


Little Lightning Marks

by QueenoftheHobbits



Series: Soft Thighs Series [15]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, overweight reader, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-12 17:54:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7116607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheHobbits/pseuds/QueenoftheHobbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re self-conscious of your stretch marks, Bucky shows you not to be...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Lightning Marks

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to suggest ideas for this series if you have any xx

You never did much like your stretch marks, they always seemed so wrong to you, scars marked on your skin that you couldn’t get rid of, an embodiment of years of bullying and poor treatment and while you were fairly comfortable now with the weight you carried and the roundness of your stomach, you weren’t entirely comfortable with your stretch marks because to you the just seemed out of place and rather ugly, and a constant reminder that you weren’t always comfortable in your weight. 

It was not something Bucky could agree with. At all. He didn’t see anything wrong with them; some were still red and angry, the relatively new one’s that jumped out due to their bright colour, and others were pale and almost reflective, one’s that were older and had calmed down with age. But to Bucky every mark was beautiful, he liked them, liked the way they trailed over your hips, stomach, and arms like ivy. He liked that they were good scars, natural scars unlike his, he liked that they showed how far you had come, that you’d gotten this far and ended up with him. But he knew that you disliked them more often than not, that you found the discolouration an ugly reminder of the insecurities you’d been working hard to fight against. 

Bucky without a doubt loved you, and that meant he loved all of you, not just your laugh or your eyes, but your tummy, and your thighs, _and_ your stretch marks, which meant that he wanted you to learn to love them too. Because he hated seeing you criticise yourself and point them out as a flaw when they weren’t a problem, when they were beautiful to him. But he knew it wasn’t something that he had total control over, he had been lucky enough to watch you grow into loving yourself so far and he knew that all he could do was try and help you along with your stretch marks in the same way you helped him with his arm and his scars. 

In the evenings the two of you always found yourself in one or the other’s room, usually in your underwear because that’s how you liked to sleep and because this was Bucky and you felt entirely comfortable around him, and usually with you sat in front of him leaning back against his chest while the two of you watched some form of terrible TV that confused Bucky to no ends, before the two of you decided to officially go to sleep. All it all it was oddly domestic of an ex-assassin.

But sometimes Bucky had other ideas, and other ideas like today included reminding you that he loved your stretch marks and that he hoped that one day you’d love them too because you deserved to be happy with them. 

“Buck...” Your tone was mildly admonishing as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, you wanted to watch the movie that was on it had started getting good just a minute ago, the mother had confessed her love to the priest and fallen into a pool, “Mmm?” Bucky hummed, but didn’t stop kissing you, instead he trailed his lips from your cheek to your jaw, little kisses, broken up by little nips to the skin. It made you giggle from the way his stubble brushed against the sensitive skin there and you chose to forget the TV and lean back into him, relaxing under his hands that rubbed soft circles into your round, soft stomach. He always made you feel relaxed, but most importantly loved. Bucky had never failed to make you feel loved in the time you had been with him.

“You know what I love about you?” You hummed in response, not really focusing on what he was saying, but rather the way in which his lips pressed and nipped along your jaw and down your neck, nuzzling for a moment in the dip between your neck and shoulder, before coming to press kisses at the top of your arms and shoulders. “These.” You turned your head slightly to look at what he was talking about and found him pressing a kiss to the white lines that marked your upper arms, “Really?” 

“Yeah, they’re like little lightning marks and they’re _very_ pretty.” While part of you internally scoffed, the other half of you knew that he’d always liked them, that he meant that and he just wanted to show you, that he wasn’t just saying it. Because Bucky never just said things. 

You turned in his arms, your legs crossed in his lap, your lips pressing to his jaw briefly. God, you loved Bucky, just looking at him made you want to sigh because he was just such a good guy, such a great guy, such a handsome guy. Who cared, cared so much. There wasn’t anything selfish in the way he pressed kisses to your shoulders, there wasn’t anything but altruism because all he ever wanted was for you to be happy and you’d never met a man who wanted you to be happy the way Bucky did. Never met a man who meant it without a doubt when he said he loved every pound of you...until you met Bucky. Bucky who would grip your hips tight, and cover your body in kisses. Bucky who would whisper praise to you no matter the circumstance. Bucky who would hold you when you cried. Bucky who loved and loved and loved. 

You didn’t complain when Bucky lowered you gently onto your back, hovering over you with his arms besides your head as he pressed a quick kiss to your nose that had you giggle. Before he gave you that cheeky boyish smirk that you wished you saw more often and darted to your stomach where he quickly pressed a kiss to one of the larger portions of stretch marks, some of which were still relatively new and red. 

You listened to the murmuring praise that Bucky bestowed upon you as he pressed little kisses to all the stretch marks across your stomach, and while normally the sight of them would make you feel uneasy, watching Bucky press loving kisses to those marks made them seem less like the enemy and more endearing because he didn’t hesitate to kiss them, to press his cheek against your stomach, to appreciate them...

You let Bucky trail the kisses over your hips and thighs, to the marks behind your calves, you let him worship the marks, before dragging him back up your body to press your lips roughly against his. “Thank you.” You pressed your forehead against his, nuzzling his nose with your own.

“You don’t have to thank me, doll”

“I’m going to do it anyway, hun” You giggled pressing another kiss to his jaw, and just looking, just staring at him because God, what did you do to deserve this man? This amazing man? You must have done some wonderfully good deeds in a past life, saved a few lives, and so on to deserve someone who tried too hard. 

To deserve a man who appreciated not only your every lump and bump and ounce of fat, but who also appreciated the marks that littered your skin. Not just tolerated, but appreciated, damn near worshipped. You were almost certain you did not deserve Bucky Barnes, but you damn well weren’t complaining about having him either. You don’t think you could ever complain about the guy, except perhaps his inability to put the toilet seat down.


End file.
